


Gauge

by hartxstarr



Series: Romaone [10]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (post-post-apocalypse), Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Gen, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartxstarr/pseuds/hartxstarr
Summary: Lazy afternoons didn't always bare fruitful conversations. Sometimes they do but oftentimes...not so much.





	Gauge

**Author's Note:**

> I don't necessarily write chronologically—this one takes place a couple years before my Tousle fic. On that note, check out Mare's Nest first!

The Land of the Trees, Sanji had learned years and years ago, played by different rules than the world he was born into. Cash and coin had no value here. Instead, goods and services were exchanged for goods and services of their own. Bargaining and favors held high value, but Sanji’s small diner worked a little differently.

Nobody deserved to go hungry, no matter who they are or what they do or don’t have. He didn’t think that food should be something to work for or earned. So, Sanji had opened up All Blue where people were to be sure to find it, and he didn’t ask for anything in exchange for his cooking. Of course, people insisted—as the law of the land—but Sanji was adamant about how his place was run.

He often found firewood at his doorstep or a barrel of fruit. People got clever; bringing him a line of fish or a rare ingredient he missed out on in the marketplace. They told him to make them something with it and to keep the rest for other dishes later.

After a while, he stopped denying them. He was, after all, a foreigner. He’s lived most of his life in Baratie, it’s true, but he himself was still getting accustomed to life in the trees. Eleven years didn’t hold a candle to the centuries the people of the trees had to cultivate their ways, so Sanji just smiled and thanked them and they thanked him in turn.

All Blue had it’s frequent customers. He quickly found that it was easy to know who to expect to come in for breakfast, and lunch, and even dinner; and after a year of its opening, the restaurant became a place people would visit just to visit. Old fisherman would come in and tell him about their daily catch and the local carpenter would ask him how _he’s_ been doing.

Sanji’s formative schooling years weren’t very pleasant at all, but he made sure to have space for the kids who felt the same way he did when he was their age. Back then, he didn’t have a place he could go to vent. Not with a person who would listen to him, anyway. And he didn’t mind letting aggression out in more physical ways, but he understood that not everyone was like him. He lent an ear for those who needed it and cooked for people who were hungry. All Blue was his, but he wanted people to feel welcomed. He wanted people to enjoy their time there and to exercise his culinary ideas.

So when he started losing customers, Sanji was less than happy. Sure, half of it was his fault, but he didn’t imagine business would stall to a complete standstill.

If the fright of a three-sword-wielding swordsman at his doorstep swaying from blood loss and rapidly losing more where he stood wasn’t enough to get his customers to leave, Sanji outright telling them to did. 

The local doctor had to restitch an obviously unprofessional job and Sanji had to mop up the blood in his doorway. It was a fun evening for them both; the three of them, actually—Zoro’s muffled cries of pain were heard even from outside the small clinics walls. Sanji stuck around long enough to find out that much.

With eventual permission to leave the clinic (not like the swordsman was waiting on it or anything) and nowhere else to go in the time his wound was still tender, it became apparent that Zoro didn’t have much to do. The man was smart enough to know that he couldn’t safely travel the mountains near Baratie just yet, but he still insisted on swinging his dumb swords around in plain daylight where everyone kept a weary eye on him.

Sanji had watched him one day—he was practicing...sword katas? Couldn’t he wait until the threat of his insides spilling out weren’t so high?

Idiot swordsman.

Once or twice, Sanji had spotted him napping somewhere around town, under a tree or in a vacant area. Loitering.

Zoro ended up frequenting All Blue often. And, begrudgingly, due to his added presence and the lingering scare he had caused within the establishment, he was quite commonly the only guest Sanji had for a good several weeks even after his treatment.

One day, when Zoro sat at the counter finishing his lunch and Sanji washed dishes, the cook tried out some small talk.

When all he got were one-word answers and grunts in reply, he stopped trying to engage the man in conversation.

Just as Sanji started draining the water in the sink and lit a cigarette, the swordsman spoke up.

“What’s up with the sea?”

Not missing a beat, Sanji replied, “The sea is everything.”

Zoro scanned the establishment, making sure to take everything in; the seashell decor didn’t go unnoticed, as well as the netting hanging on the walls and the small anchor above the doorway. Little jars filled with sand and various rocks sat atop tables and lined the windowsills. Sanji silently lamented his decision to pass on painting the walls blue. Zoro slid his eyes back to the cook.

“The people here,” Zoro said after a moment. “You—respect it?”

Sanji didn’t quite know where this conversation was going or why Zoro decided that this was the topic he wanted to engage in but he tilted his head anyway. “Yes?”

Zoro pursed his lips. After a moment, he squinted. Finally, “Why?”

_“Why?”_

“I mean, _I_ can live without it.”

“All life comes from the sea,” Sanji said with a bit more bite than intended. “Everything we have, everything that’s around you right now, the sea played a part in making it. You’re an idiot to think you can live without it.”

“I’ve lived my whole life without it,” Zoro said in turn. “If I left right now, I wouldn’t miss it. The trees have been my home for as long as I can remember, it’s them that I return to.”

“They are only trees,” Sanji glanced out the window facing the forest. “The sea could wipe them all out in an instant.”

“The trees are strong. They’ve existed for centuries,” the swordsman stated matter-of-factly. “The sea _can_ destroy the trees,” he agreed just as Sanji turned and opened his mouth. “But why would it? They’ve never done anything to it.”

“It was an example,” Sanji explained. “Look, all I’m saying is that _I_ love the sea. Most people around here, yeah, they feel the same way but I wouldn’t be here without it.” He ashed his cigarette. “I was led by it, that’s why _I_ respect it, in a way.”

“I wouldn’t be _here_ if not for the trees. They led me, just like your sea did for you. The trees can give life just like the sea can.” Zoro shifted in his seat. “And just like the sea, the trees can take it away if they want to. Though, much more slowly.”

“What are you rambling on about?” Sanji scanned the pensive look on Zoro’s face. “The trees can’t do much, stuck as they are.”

“The trees...” Zoro paused and looked away. After a moment, he seemed to find some words, “They’re big.” At Sanji’s snort at his feeble offering, he tried again. “I mean—there didn’t used to be so many of them! They started to grow one day and, I don’t know, eventually forests got so overgrown that people couldn’t deal with them all. That’s why the Land of the Trees is as big as it is.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Sanji took the last drag of his cigarette thoughtfully. “What they taught us, the Land of the Trees have been around for almost as long as the sea has. Longer than people, at least.”

Zoro rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know, some lady told me.” Against his better judgement, Sanji couldn’t help the second snort that came out. “She—she’s a reliable source, okay? She knows way more about this stuff than me.”

Sanji lit another cigarette in hopes of curbing his interest. It didn’t work, of course. “A scholar you met during your wandering?”

The swordsman went from rubbing his neck to scratching the top of his head. “Something like that,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t really a scholar though. She was a—” he shut his eyes to search for the words this time. “A manager?”

His cigarette halted midway to his lips. “A manager?”

“Of a casino or something.” 

“Of a—where the fuck were you? Where do you find a _casino_ out wandering about?”

“It’s not like I was in the _trees,”_ Zoro said defensively. “I wandered into a city.”

Sanji eyed him suspiciously for a moment before—“Legally?” 

“Does it look like I have a passport to you?”

Sanji squinted at him. No, he didn’t look like the type. “Then how did you get inside the gates?”

“There wasn’t any.”

Well. Sanji tried again, “A wall?”

“No.” It was only after the two stared at each other silently did Zoro seem to find his statement a little odd. He took a moment to consider it. “Huh. Well, they probably weren’t expecting anyone to wander in anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

The swordsman cocked his head a little as he thought back. “The city was in the middle of the desert. I don’t know if it was even with the government or not.”

“Why—” Sanji nearly choked. “Why the hell were you in the _desert?_ Where even _is_ a desert? How did you get there?” A thought struck him—“Were you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were in the _desert,_ Mosshead.”

_”Mosshead?”_

“You get lost so much out there in the forest pretending to be a fucking mountain man, I think you caught something.” That didn’t even include all the times Sanji had seen him circle Baratie. “I think I see moss growing from your head.”

“The forest is my _home,”_ Zoro scowled at him. “I didn’t _catch_ anything.”

“Oh shit, my bad,” Sanji took another drag of his cigarette. “I can totally see the moss now.”

He was only slightly disappointed when the swordsman didn’t raise to the bait and continued to just sit there scowling at him. Eventually, Zoro went to scoop up the last bit of his food and chewed it slowly. After a moment, Sanji went back to cleaning his side of the counter up, still feeling the other’s eyes on him when he turned his back and wiped down the stove.

Sanji didn’t know much about wanderers. He’s never sailed with any particular freedom before, but he imagined, for a wanderer, the feeling would be similar to exploring the forest world. Zoro said that the trees were his home—he wondered if the man ever had a place to return to if he wanted, someplace stationary and physical. He wondered if Zoro even wanted that.

Baratie didn’t get too many passerby’s but when it did, it wasn’t usually a big deal. Of course, most wanderers didn’t show up with half their organs spilling out of themselves but, well, what can you do?

He wondered when Zoro would decide he was well enough to leave for the forest again. A wound like that would take time to heal, even if he thought he could walk around easily and swing his swords around daily. He wore his shirts open most of the time—Sanji saw the wrappings around his torso covered in blood sometimes and he moved awkwardly most days, like he was in pain.

If the man had traveled to distant desert-like regions—intentionally or not—and eventually found his way to the coast of Baratie multiple times, where else had he been to? What other kinds of places did he see?

Zoro seemed to be done talking for a while, but Sanji wondered—to come back with an injury that intense, what else did the swordsman get up to out there?


End file.
